


Flying Down the 101

by obsidian_lily



Category: Station 19 (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obsidian_lily/pseuds/obsidian_lily
Summary: Vic-Centric/ Post Season 2 Finale AU.The crew sticks around in Los Angeles County and Hughes is still grieving
Relationships: Victoria Hughes/Lucas Ripley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Flying Down the 101

She met a man. During a fire that burned for thirty days. She met a sweaty, tired, fellow firefighter at a small bar in a nowhere town outside the containment area. The barkeep was keen to live and die behind the polished oak his father cut down all by his damn self. His father made the bar from the ground up with his bare hands, the barkeep said. He'd made all the furniture in his childhood home, down to the marriage bed. Beautiful dark wood, polished to a glorious finish, a California King big enough for him and all the kids his wife wanted. Crafted with all the care and love a man could have when he prefers drinking to speaking. His father died of cirrhosis of course. His mother followed six months later. He was their only child. He rubbed a cloth along the bar-top and it was clear he loved the bar at least as much as his father did. Hughes watched him. Envious of everyone in his story: the father, his grieving widow, the son who had a living breathing thing to preserve as a monument to their existence.

She wanted that but she had nothing. The barkeep was keen, and he was pouring whiskey. His name was Rick and he was pouring because there were only firefighters to serve so he might as well say thank you. Most civilians with half a brain had fled the fire days ago, the smoke choking the air and turning it acrid. When Montgomery asked him why he stayed, the barkeep laughed.

"Where would I go?"

And Hughes understood him even if she didn't like it. There was a story here. A reason the barkeep stood lonely behind the bar determined he would not leave even on pain of death. Although she was sure emergency services would evacuate him if the fire got any closer to his town. He meant to preserve the bar come hell or high-water and hell is a fire that does not stop raging. Still, he meant to protect his life's work. He meant no offense to any of them but he needed to stay. Hughes took a long sip of her whiskey. It had been forty days since the funeral. Thirty-five days since she received the most beautiful bouquet of flowers. At least forty days since she'd slept in her own bed with the scent of _him_ still hovering. By the time she got back to Seattle it would be gone. Luke's one good shirt was in her drawer. She hoped his scent would linger there but she wasn't that stupid.

She knew what it was like to want to keep something close even if it looked like insanity.

"He's a fool."

"What?"

Hughes turned her head, already bristling with anger. Braced to argue. The soot covered man was unfamiliar, his scowl unpleasant after a long day digging fire breaks and clearing out buildings. She didn't need anyone else's dark mood when hers was quite sufficient. Even if he was six foot even with the brightest pair of eyes she'd seen in days.

"I said. He's a fool."

"So what? I don't see you dragging him out. At least we have somewhere to drink in this hellhole."

She tilted her head back and finished her whiskey in one gulp to emphasize the point and turned away.

"True, but he still shouldn't stay."

"Listen, I have no interest in discussing the relative merits of an open bar in the middle of a firestorm. Buy a drink or wander back to wherever you came from."

"Well,… that's a mite bit tricky."

Hughes paused. She didn't do it often. Stop herself from speaking her mind that is. But the accent finally registered. In her utter irritated exhaustion, she'd failed to recognize she was speaking with an Australian volunteer. A man who had quite literally left his country to help her own. She glanced down the bar at Travis who lifted an interested eyebrow in inquiry. She shook her head, wide-eyed. She didn't know how to respond without looking like a total ass.

"I'm Max by the way. Me and my crew," she saw him make a vague gesture to the back of the bar. "We're just up from—"

"Australia. Yeah I hear the accent now. Thanks Max!"

He chuckled. It was low and dark and preternaturally sexy. Every male firefighter had one it seemed.

"And what's your name?"

"Oh god no. Just no! Stow the snake Aussie. I'm just off a 48 hr shift in the middle of a goddamn —"

"Hey."

Hughes was so shocked by his hand on her forearm she stopped talking. He'd moved around to her front to face her.

"I know. I wasn't trying —"

"You were."

Hughes had no time for his bullshit. For men at all really. Travis had already been disciplined for defending her honor to fellow Seattle firefighters. Men who had insinuated she was just a piece of ass for Fire Chief Ripley. For Luke. That she'd been trying to sleep her way into a better position. The old double standard with sex, never mind the age, race and life experience differences. She pulled her arm from Max's grip.

"This conversation would go a lot better, a lot faster, if you'd just stop lying Max."

"Fine. Can I buy you a drink?"

"What part of stow the snake wasn't clear to you?"

"Listen, I don't know how many wildfires you've seen but it's going to get to you."

"Thank you for the advice. You can go back to your crew and tell them you struck out now."

It wasn't like she didn't know that she worked in a boys club. Going through the fire academy had made that excruciatingly clear. Tack on some good old fashioned racism with your garden variety sexism and Hughes was largely unimpressed with her male peers as a dating pool. That Ripley had been one of these young jackasses once wasn't lost on her. Two ex-wives. No children. She thought she'd pegged him right off the bat but was so grateful, every day really, that he had proven her wrong. She ignored Max as she signaled for another whiskey. Silence usually pushed men away faster than any argument.

"You're alone."

She stared at him. One eyebrow crooked. Her hand on the bar waiting for a whiskey. The other ready to throw a punch. It had been a bad shift.

"You're sitting alone. Your own crew is avoiding you so I figured—"

"My crew knows what I need better than you. If you'd take your eyes off my tits for two seconds and turn your head three clicks to the left, you'd see my best friend staring you down. The pretty boy with the black eye."

Max turned his head. On cue, Travis gave a small wave. His mouth settled into a frown. Hughes smiled. She knew he was asking if she needed help. She trailed two fingers along the bar and he nodded. If Max wasn't gone in the next couple minutes he had permission to interrupt.

"Charming fella I'm sure, your friend. Can I at least get your name?"

"It's on my gear,"

"Hughes isn't your first name."

"It's the only one you're getting, _Max_. Have a good night."

The bartender came over with her whiskey and she smiled gratefully. Max was still crowding her but he only had about a minute before Travis made his way over. Like her, he smelled of smoke, sweat, the creosote debris of burning chemicals and noxious toxins. He was nothing like Ripley's clean shirt sitting in her drawer losing the person who had worn it so well. She took a long sip and let herself think of him. Always Ready. She knew she'd live her life like that because of him. Always prepared to die and doing so gladly. Max leaned close to her ear and she rolled her eyes.

"Don't get caught out on a backburn Hughes. G'Nite."

Two thumps of his hand on the bar beside her and finally, he walked away. Travis slid in next to her with a hip check only moments later.

"What was that?"

"The usual. Firefighters picking up other firefighters should be outlawed."

"Vic…"

"This is not about Ripley."

"Isn't it?"

"I swear you took off your wedding ring just so I couldn't hold it over you."

"Don't do that. Don't play mean just because I want you to talk—"

"Travis. There is nothing to talk about."

"You should take some time—"

"Travis. Let me remind you: our relationship was not officially recognized by the Seattle Fire Department. Therefore I do not qualify for bereavement leave. Remember? Also bills don't pay themselves so."

To be honest, she felt like a pariah in the fire department. Her personal life on display but only in its tragic aftermath. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to be here. They were supposed to get married. Let HR freak out and have years to make up for the egregious breach in protocol. Now people stared. The widow who wasn't a widow. The third class firefighter who'd reached for the stars and briefly, oh so briefly, held the love of their leader in her hands. How do you even process that without seeing it, seeing them together? So assumptions were being made by everyone, including her friends and Hughes was sick of it.

"If you need help—"

"Travis! Stop. Pushing. I went to the funeral. I went to the wake. Jennifer has me going to the IAFF memorial in September if I can get the time off. I am doing all of the processing things. We are in the middle of an active wildfire, my personal drama doesn't need to be a discussion point every damn day!"

"I'm allowed to worry about you."

"Worry about me out there! On the fire line! Jesus Travis, you're lookout! Every damn time we go out you're calculating surface fuels and monitoring slope winds. Keep your head in the game!"

Travis sighed and Hughes sipped whiskey and she knew. She just knew that Bishop and Herrera and Gibson were probably watching right now, wondering if they needed to intervene. She wasn't fragile. She wouldn't shatter. She could do her job and cope with the grief as it came. And it did come. In waves, at night when he was no longer there to hold and kiss and touch. She cried. She didn't deny that this was her reality. She couldn't. Luke no longer lived. Eggy no longer existed. She was Hughes or she was Vic and missing him was not a part-time occupation. He was with her at every fire scene. She'd think about what he would have done and decided she'd probably hate it half the time given how they'd met. Sometimes, it made her smile. No other man had ever treated her defiance with such ruthless levity. He wasn't perfect but he was hers, for one shining moment. And because they had been private, she wanted to grieve him privately. It was no one's business how she was feeling, not even Travis. She got to keep this little piece of him, the man he was under the Fire Chief position, all to herself.

"We're family Hughes. I'm not gonna stop caring—"

"I'm not asking you to stop caring. I'm asking for space. Everyone is watching me. A _ll the time and it's suffocating!_ I don't want your pity or your sad looks. It doesn't help! I want him and he's not here so stop!"

She was aware that she was getting louder. Conscious of the fact that his soft voice was making her angrier. His voice was the whispered sound of deathbeds and nursing homes. It was that tone, the inflection just this side of false commiseration. But he didn't understand. Travis could never understand. He'd built a life, no matter how short, with his husband. She would never be Luke's wife. Never get to profess her love for him, to him in front of their families at a wedding. That perfect bouquet of flowers was sitting in her fridge but it was dead. Beautiful but dead just like he was and never coming back. She wasn't holding a pity party. Everyone has their shit to deal with and this was hers.

"Hughes, we want to help."

"I get that. Really I do. I get feeling helpless while watching someone you love suffer. I do."

She was thinking of her grandmother and how she'd been too young to do right by her. How she'd tried to support her as best she could with what she had. How that failure still ate at her. Hughes was well acquainted with the anxiety associated with not being able to provide relief for your family when they were hurting. She glared at Travis over her rapidly emptying whiskey glass.

"But that's about how you're feeling, that's not about me. You can't fix this and hovering isn't going to make it better. So either shut up and buy a drink or go back over to the team and keep whispering about what you're going to do about me."

To his credit, Travis ordered a beer and shut up. They talked about rotating out of wildfire suppression and back up to Seattle. They wondered how the city was doing during these volatile summer months. They were woefully ill-equipped to handle long-range large distance fires. 80 percent of their calls were medical in Seattle. A four alarm fire was rare which was good but their training had never actually covered this sort of work and it had been a month of learning as they went and hoping no one got caught in a fire trap. Gibson had had a near miss and a screaming match with Herrera because of it. Bishop had watched nonchalantly. Enjoying the reprieve from Jack's incessant chatter about their relationship. It really begged the question who was in charge but that wasn't Hughes problem and she refused to think about the trio's complicated bullshit.

They'd been bunking in and on the rig for weeks. Abandoned homes when they could. Tight quarters always made her crazy. She was an only child to distracted parents and still struggled with adjusting to not having her own space. To the hovering mentality that meant love but felt like a straitjacket to her. The sleep deprivation and lack of showers wasn't helping either. Nor was it lost on her that she, Bishop and Herrera constituted the entire female presence for miles. Men like Max were going to creep.

The night wore on. She exchanged whiskey for water because dehydration was a real problem while working an active job and chances were these next 24 hours off weren't going to be off at all. Slowly, quietly, the others bled away one by one but she wasn't ready to leave. She waved her radio at Travis when he asked if she was okay and turned back to the barkeep with his one wet rag. She watched him take long swipes up and down the bar. Like he was memorizing the wood grain. Everything he did seemed to come from a place of love and attention.

"What were they like? Your parents I mean?"

He paused. Like no one had ever stopped to ask. His eyes were kind and worn at the edges, a seasoned man. Well aware of the dangers he faced and still willing to stick around. Rick had no false bravado. He knew he could die but his parents had been good, hardworking people. He didn't want to see their bar, their life's work destroyed. His mother was the only waitress when they started out. Rick made Hughes laugh with one story about his father leaning over the bar with a shotgun on the bar-top while Evelyn, _that_ _was his mother's name but Pop called her Evie_ , served some roughshod MC types.

"He didn't give a fuck how badass they were. He was making sure they respected the ring."

Respected the ring. She traced her thumb over her fourth finger. Missing something she'd never thought to want. The only thing she'd wanted was him. Her smile was uncomfortable as it stretched her lips.

"It sounds like he was a real character, your dad."

"He was."

And Hughes leaned in. Listened to the love story of two strangers. Instead of feeling envious, she felt wonder. Two people walked into the same room and never let go. She recognized in that moment that grief-stricken though she was, she had a love story. It was past tense but she had been loved beyond the point of rationality. She had made Fire Chief Lucas Ripley concede to impulse and passion and giddy joy. Who else could say that?

"What did he say to you?"

Hughes started. Yet another man was sitting next to her. She hadn't heard him at all. Perhaps she should leave. But it wasn't that late and the fire lit the sky up like a burning sunrise. The heat was surreal.

"Who?"

"The Aussie staring a hole into the back of your head."

"Is he? Nothing memorable."

He laughed and Hughes sized him up. He looked as grimy as the rest of them with a walking boot on his left foot. Seriously, how had she not heard him behind her stool. She blinked when he shrugged a shoulder.

"Don't mind me. I just wanted another drink and was curious."

And now so was she. Hughes figured he was late thirties. Clean shaven. Dark wavy hair and dark brown eyes like her own. Clearly also a firefighter, an injured one in the middle of an active scene: she was tempted to ask if he was stupid.

"Well, he tried. He failed. And now we can all move on."

He snorted. He still hadn't given her his name or asked for hers and the barkeep knew his order without a word which made Hughes even more curious. She decided she needed one more whiskey. Men were going to say whatever they wanted and apparently all she could do was sit there and listen.

"What? Spit it out. You clearly have something to say."

"More a word of advice: always leave the bar with your crew."

A chill rolled down Hughes' spine. She turned her whole body towards this second stranger. Caution told her not to argue but exhaustion had frayed her nerves to breaking.

"I can take care of myself."

"You're the only woman in a room full of men. I don't care how good you are with the Pulaski. I don't like the odds."

"You don't like the odds? Sir, thank you for your concern but I'm not drunk. I've got my radio. No one's slipped anything into my drink. I'm good."

They stared at each other. Like earlier, Hughes had one hand clenched into a fist and the other on the bar. She was young but she wasn't naive. If she'd felt unsafe she would have radioed Travis or Dean. The truth was she didn't need help. She was good at taking care of herself and had been for years. When he blinked first she didn't stop holding his gaze until he let out a deep sigh.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"Why?"

"You have a death wish."

"No, I don't."

"You do."

"If this is some asshole way of being chivalrous you can limp away now."

His nostrils flared, patience shredding in the face of her defiance. Hughes loved to see it. She wasn't above pushing any buttons she could get. She took a sip of her whiskey and smirked. Insulting a firefighter's ego was always the way to their weakness.

She didn't expect him to take the whiskey. She was downright shocked when he demanded that Rick close her tab. When he threw cash on the bar. When he leaned into her face, vicious and fuming.

"Lady, I don't care who the fuck you are. You're done."

"What the fuck!"

"You are sitting alone in a bar. You are pushing everyone you know away. I have been you. I don't need your story to know you're done for the night."

Hughes felt the tears slide down her cheek and her chin wobble before she blinked and clenched her jaw, turning her head away against the onslaught. He was staring at the side of her head, waiting for a fight. She was sure of it.

"I don't want to sleep."

She confessed it softly, her eyes staring straight ahead. Sleep gave her no reprieve. In her dreams, Luke lived and they tortured her.

"Okay, so we won't."

"We?"

She watched him stand. He was tall. Tall enough to make her feel small, almost dainty. And she was neither of those things as he raked a hand through his hair.

"I'm not leaving you here. If you can't sleep, I'll show you something."

Maybe it was a pickup line. It was certainly more original than Max's but when she looked into his eyes, she didn't think so. He seemed genuinely worried, a crease between his eyebrows, a frown on his lips. They'd been yelling only moments before but now, now his voice was gentle, coaxing. Like he understood that he could and had pushed her but it would only get him so far. Hughes found herself nodding her assent and his sigh of relief made her smile as she wiped the tears off her cheeks. She walked slowly next to him as he hop walked to the exit. Hughes stifled a laugh.

"I'm Vic."

"Brian, nice to meet you."

This wasn't the smartest decision she'd ever made but Hughes had definitely done worse. Been worse as she climbed into his SUV. It just didn't feel strange when her life was a fishbowl and she swam in circles while everyone stared. She watched his hands on the wheel, big and callused while he took the nearly empty freeway, speeding past abandoned houses on the I-210. She didn't ask him where they were going but she did want to know:

"What happened to your foot?"

He cringed. He'd taken the walking boot off so he could drive. Probably against doctor's orders but she had no room to judge on that score.

"Bad jump."

"Jump? You're a smokejumper?"

"Yeah."

Hughes was speechless. Smokejumpers were the best of the best. There were 400 maximum in the entire country. Their training was insane. Never mind their job description: targeted aerial insertion into a wildfire without backup, sometimes for days. They were rumored to be cocky as hell, obnoxiously insular and damn near mythic in firefighting skill.

"So what, you're recuperating at an active fire?"

"If I can't get on the plane what else would I do?"

"Uh. Go home? Where's your base?"

"No point in going back to base if I'm not on the jump list, Vic."

He was flying down the 101 and she wasn't scared of anything. His hands on the wheel were capable, strong. They soothed her. Just the look of them, knowing they held such tremendous skill. She liked the way he said Vic. There was a bit of drawl to his voice. A southern boy maybe and she leaned back in her seat, examining him. Amazed that she got to sit next to a modern day legend. She wanted to ask him so many questions she didn't know where to start and she didn't care if she came off like a groupie when she started to ramble. She'd read about them. Knew some of the history. When she and Ripley skydived on the weekends, she'd imagined herself training to be one sometimes.

"Do you love it?"

"There's nothing better honestly."

"Do you know about the Triple Nickles?"

"I bet you're gonna tell me."

She told him about the all black parachute infantry company and how they were trained as paratroopers in World War Two. How instead of fighting in Europe they were deployed to Oregon and fought fires started by Japanese incendiary bombs. They were the first smoke jumpers and it was a secret military operation called Operation Firefly. They were the Army's first and only group of airborne firefighters at the time. Many of the methods they used for combating forest fires were still in use today.

"I mean that's what I've read. I'm sure you know more."

"I wouldn't say I've focused on the history much Vic. Too busy running drills."

"And falling from planes below the minimum parachute jump height?"

He laughed loudly at this. Glanced over at her and Hughes smiled back.

"No one's falling. Just a leap of faith. Like the one you took walking out that bar with me."

She didn't deny it. He had the windows down and her gaze drifted out. The air was less choked with smoke. They were away from the world it seemed, driving through the hills, past sleepy little towns and large ones. She still didn't ask where they were going. All the same, there was a question she wanted to ask but didn't want to offend. Hughes bit her lip. When else would she get this opportunity back?

"What happened at the IA?"

"IA? Jesus you know the lingo Vic? You looking to go federal?"

He was teasing her. Deflecting. She knew because she was good at it most of the time. But he'd brought her on this adventure and she wanted to know more about what it was like to hike into a fire with no outside support. To carry your life with you like that.

"You broke your foot. You weren't lead officer. What happened."

"Fire broke the line. I don't know. I wasn't there. I hiked out to see a doctor when the splint wasn't helping."

"Your team rotate out?"

"They're in Arizona. Another fire. I'll get there eventually."

"But not on the jump list."

His jaw clenched and he shook his head no. It was clear he didn't want to think about his injury. Maybe he was worried he'd just done his last plane ride as a smokejumper. She didn't know him well enough to speculate. Whatever it was, driving eased it. He knew the road intimately. Had probably been chasing wildfires all up and down the West Coast while she was still doing community theatre.

"What happened to you Vic?"

She'd asked him questions and now he wanted his own answers. Hughes closed her eyes on a sigh. Luke was there behind her eyelids. How he'd looked, suffering in that hospital bed, choking slowly to death as his big, generous heart failed him.

"It's been forty-five days since the love of my life died."

"Well, fuck Vic. Firefighter?"

"Fire Chief."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

He didn't say he was sorry. She appreciated that. Sorry didn't mean anything. It was a worthless platitude. More solace for the speaker than the recipient. Brian was brash but basically decent. He had the common sense to let her brood a little as he turned the wheel through a hairpin curve on the mountain road.

"You can't be more than a second class. You must be some kind of firefighter to grab a chief's attention."

She was. The compliment flowed through her. To Luke she had been amazing both in and out of her firefighter gear. She'd made him more impulsive. He'd made her more steady. Grounded in the certainty of their connection. Hughes felt the tears gather and let them slide down her face unchecked. Brian was too busy driving to notice them, she hoped.

"We used to skydive on the weekends."

"So you are going federal."

She couldn't help it. She laughed. It felt like a foreign sound. There was no way she'd survive smokejumper training. Never mind that she had no wildfire experience either. She told him about some of her favorite things about skydiving. The feeling of freedom she got from diving headfirst out of a plane. How it was just her and the air rushing by as she hurtled to the ground at 120 miles per hour. She loved the jolt of the line and falling through clouds. She loved how peaceful the world looked for just one minute.

And he got it. Of course he did. He jumped out of airplanes for a living, was nursing a broken ankle and clearly loved speed in all forms as he careened them further and further from the active fire she'd been working for weeks. They'd rotate out soon. She knew it. She didn't care if she got in trouble for leaving. She closed her eyes and listened to Brian talk about aiming to fall into a tree on purpose. How parachute jump falls were a little different from skydiving landings. She pictured it. The parachute snagging, the brutally unkind impact of body and tree limb. She let his words wash over her like a wave. His voice was so soothing…

"Vic."

She opened her eyes. They were parked on the side of the road. The Pacific Ocean was sprawled out before her beyond the windshield. Dark and loud, the rush of a salt breeze over her skin. She turned her head to look at Brian.

"We have the ocean in Seattle Brian."

"Is that where you're from? Doesn't matter. Come on."

He hopped out, no walking boot, and started to walk away. He'd left the headlights on, and bewildered, Hughes watched him slowly trot along the side of what looked to be the Pacific Coast Highway with sand for the shoulder. She watched until the headlight glow barely touched his bare feet. Quickly, she climbed out and ran after him. Instead of walking beside him, she followed in his footsteps as the pale headlight faded to dimness and then to what felt like near darkness until her eyes adjusted. The path was uneven, his pace was slow and she realized they had climbed out past the road onto a craggy outcropping off the California coast. She could see the stars, the far off lights of a ship, the chop of the surf.

"How far are you willing to go?''

"What?" She asked in response.

He turned from the ocean. She could barely make out his face.

"You have a death wish Vic."

"I really don't Brian."

"You got into a car with a stranger whose driven you an hour away from anyone you know."

"I'm not scared."

"Shouldn't you be?"

It was a good question. She didn't have an answer. Hughes wasn't even cold and it was past midnight. Instead she looked at him. He'd been testing her this whole way and failed. Her self-preservation skills absent without a fire to ground them.

"What am I here to see that I can't see in Seattle?"

Brian shook his head and sighed. He looked out at the ocean, hands on his hips to steady himself as the wind lapped at their bodies. He crooked his head to examine her and Hughes stood firm. Unapologetic in the face of his censure. She knew he wouldn't hurt her.

"I want you to jump in."

But apparently he wanted her to hurt all the same.

"What? I'm sorry could you repeat that. I thought you said jump."

"You're self-destructing in slow motion. You feel hollow. You obviously don't care what happens. Jump into the ocean. I think—"

"I DO NOT HAVE A DEATH WISH!"

Brian let her scream. Hughes paced away from him and back in circles. Her breath was heaving in her lungs. His hair was flying off his face, the breeze flattening his clothes against his body like a flag.

"Did that feel good?"

"Yes."

"Alright then."

"Have you done it?"

"I'll tell you about it after."

After. He seriously thought she would attempt it. She peered over the edge. It was a straight shot. No rocks or other formations to block her descent. She was thankful for the moonlight and his headlights and the bright halogen shine off the road markers. All of it.

It happens by accident.

Or she thinks it does. One minute she was staring into dark eyes, kind and serious. The next she was screaming and running to fling herself off the edge into open air. She fell in a three count. No time to brace her body for impact like when she exited a plane. Between one heartbeat and the next, the ocean swallowed her body and her scream, the cold shocking a gasped inhalation of water. There was an explosion of sound next to her.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!"

Hughes wiped saltwater from her face as she trod water. Brian was in the ocean beside her. Looking pissed as hell.

"I wasn't supposed to jump?"

"You just leapt into pitch black water without a plan for getting to shore. Fuck you Vic. You wanna die."

"You jumped in too!"

"Shut up and follow me."

Meekly, quietly, she matched him stroke for stroke as they swam for shore. He was faster in the water than he was on land. His injured foot not slowing him a bit until they began to climb the rocks with wet hands and slippery feet. She helped him up, holding his ankle straight while he clamored for the edge of the metal guardrail that ran the length of the road. She watched him do a pull up, the blunt metal cutting into his palms as he dragged his soaking wet body over and onto the dry sandy shoulder. He helped her in turn, up and over the side, his hands rough on her skin as the chills started to set in. He muttered a curse as they strode back to his SUV.

"What did you expect to happen?"

"More negotiating. You saying I'm crazy. Asking how to get to shore. Something. Shit girl. You gave me a heart attack."

"So you haven't jumped it before?"

"In daylight. Here, get in."

He opened the back passenger door and sat her down inside. He fumbled around until he was wrapping a woven blanket with geometric shapes around her shoulders, his hands wicking water away from her clothes in long rough strokes, still angry enough to be unkind as he cared for her.

"How did it make you feel?" He finally asked, leaning on the open door while she squeezed the water from her hair.

Hughes thought about it for a moment. It was nothing like skydiving. Safer and more dangerous at the same time. He was right. She hadn't asked him anything. She'd gone from staring into his eyes to throwing herself off the cliff to what, prove a point to him? She knew she'd failed. Again. But she wasn't sorry. Hughes scooted over in the backseat so he could sit down, her guilt overwhelming her. He obviously hadn't planned an impromptu swim into his rehab routine. She glanced down at his ankle and then at his face until he sighed and propped his ankle on the center console.

"Well?" He prompted.

"Alive. I felt alive okay!"

"Heart beating fast. Blood pumping loud in your ears. Yeah?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Nah. You know. You jumped off that cliff because you don't know what comes next and you don't care either."

"Maybe."

Brian chuckled, leaning his head back on the headrest, his hair was long and dripping onto his shoulders. His eyes were closed while he shook his head.

"You are reckless and stubborn Firefly. Just admit I'm right and start to move forward."

She blushed.

"Firefly?"

"Small and bright and completely aimless in the dark: looking for light."

Hughes frowned.

"Why did _you_ jump?"

"My mom."

He didn't say anymore and they stayed there. Letting their hearts slow and the waves crash far below them. For several minutes all Hughes could do was listen and breathe. She was alive. Luke was dead. Nothing she felt would change that.

"Does it get better?"

"It gets different. That's all. You breathe around it. Some days you're gonna be knocked to the floor missing him. Others you'll look and feel fine. Normal. Just don't let anyone tell you when to move on. Or how. No one's gonna know but you."

She watched him while the breath sawed in and out of his body, the wet rippling mess of him in a tee shirt and loose fitting cargo pants. He was a tall, dark and handsome stranger. The stuff of tarot cards and dark dreams and she hadn't felt this calm in ages.

"Your mother raised a good man Brian."

His Adams apple bobbed and her heart broke just a little for his sorrow. Glimpsing deep grief dressed in another body allowed Hughes to see outside herself for a moment.

"She tried."

"Where you from?"

"Georgia."

"Mmm. Southern boy. I knew it."

Brian scoffed but she didn't care. Hughes leaned into him not exactly looking for a hug. Just his warmth as her body ran cold from the water. He stretched an arm around her shoulders as he pulled his foot to the floor.

"Thank you."

"Sure thing, Firefly."

His arm tightened over her shoulder. Her hand relaxed on his chest.

It wasn't a decision. Not for her. Hughes being Hughes wasn't thinking beyond the moment. Her mouth opened on his neck. He didn't protest. Most men wouldn't. But he didn't engage either. Her hand wandered beneath his cargo pants and he groaned long and loud. Her tongue licked his pulse and one hand clutched the back of her head instinctively. Hughes gave him a squeeze and up down stroke and he outright shuddered under her palms.

"Touch me."

"This isn't why I—"

"Oh come off it. You're just—"

"Vic."

Her cheeks were clutched between his large hands. His eyes were dark but not at all mysterious. She could see right to the bottom. The masked need. The desire he denied. Her hand churned in his boxers until his hips rose to meet it.

"This will not make you feel better."

"Nope. But at least I'll be feeling. That's what you wanted right?''

She felt the pressure tighten on her jaw while she goaded him. Glaring right at him as tremors shook his body when she continued to touch him. Tugging at his pants until the wet fabric slipped far enough for a good look and he looked more than good. She wondered how long it had been for him. It could have been awhile but she didn't think so. He was too strong, too wild a man to go without. A smokejumper, she was going to fuck a smokejumper.

"Oh fuck. Fuuuuck girl. Wait."

She didn't. She didn't have to. He met her halfway with a low grunt when their hips coupled and rocked. It felt. Good. Yes. The bite of his calluses on her wet skin prickled. The chafe of his wet pants under her thighs. It was sensation and movement and… she fell into it. Forgetting everything but the feeling of greedy surrender. Taking as much as she was taken. A low moan fell from her lips unbidden.

"God! So good. So good. Don't stop. Don't…"

She rode him into that tight sweet oblivion and beyond. Not stopping, trying to chase the high for as long as possible. He was just a body to get her where she needed to go. To that dim blinkered space where ecstasy stretches into pain. Her body contracting to a single point of connection and the jut of him hurtling her over the edge while she screamed.

.

.

.

.

.

"I bet you broke his heart."

"Hmm?"

They were driving back. His hands had pulled her plaits loose and the fingers of his one hand played with the strands as he drove. She still felt safe with him speeding along. One hundred miles an hour into the dark but perhaps she had a death wish. It made no sense and she didn't have the energy to care. Not everything had to be awkward and agonized over.

"If that's how you fuck grief-stricken and barely alive then I'm pretty sure you destroyed him Firefly."

"Does it matter? He broke me when he died."

Brian was quiet for a moment and Hughes was thinking back to that day in the diner parking lot. When she'd almost made love to Lucas in the car before the owner stopped them. She'd never had that with him. She would never have that with him. The grief threatened to blind her with tears. Suddenly, Brian's hand was clutching hers and pulling it from her lap. He looked away from the road for one long heart stopping minute while he kissed her knuckles.

"It will. To the next man you love."

She didn't see the sense in arguing and he held her hand all the way back to the San Fernando Valley. Back up thru the smoke toward the bright red of fire, even when they got stopped by local police to ask where they were going. Brian's hand held hers, his thumb brushing back and forth over her knuckles while she directed him to the rig and the house her whole crew was piled into, probably worried. She sighed. Back to life under a microscope. Hughes went to pull her hand away but Brian didn't let go. She looked up. His mouth was set in a firm line.

"Don't die stupid Firefly. If you go federal, ask for Brian Santos at Region 5 Smokejumpers. I'd keep you safe in a wildfire."

Hughes smiled. It was no small compliment to hear him suggest, yet again, that she could join the elite tier of firefighters.

"Give me a couple years."

"I'll be waiting."

She kissed his cheek then. Sure he was just being a Southern charmer. It would be too heady by half to imagine this man remembering her fondly and wanting her by his side as they jumped into danger. She had enough on her plate as it was.

"I still won't sleep."

She confessed it on a whim, reluctant to leave the precarious cocoon he had given her as a reprieve from her life.

"Way to bruise my ego."

She didn't respond. Brian hadn't judged her. He'd worried and argued and pulled her to safety despite her best efforts to wallow. Despite her own words, because Hughes didn't actually want to be alone. She just didn't want to be pitied.

He didn't protest when she closed the door, nor when she locked it. He never let go of her hand. He didn't turn the engine on. He told her about Georgia. Brian was a natural storyteller, his words weaving images so complete she could imagine them right in front of her. His face more and more animated the more stories he told, drawing her in and spinning her head with the madness of smokejumping. She smiled. She laughed. His voice was whiskey warm, hoarse and beautiful at the same time. She burrowed into it as unfamiliar as everything else in the last thirty days. A wildfire raged all around them but she felt safe.


End file.
